


Out of Practice

by bythunder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythunder/pseuds/bythunder
Summary: Jon hasn't been on a date in a really long time, so he enlists Sansa to help him get back in the swing of things.





	Out of Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> From a five word prompt on tumblr - “Is this your first time?”

“Is this your first time?”

The voice makes his focus snap up from where he’d been systematically tearing his cocktail napkin to bits. Halves, then quarters, then eighths, until there was nothing left but confetti. “…first time?”

“Speed dating.” The bartender touches the stamp on his hand, a little purple lightning bolt, that would grant him entry to the backroom of the bar for their special singles event in a few minutes.

Jon was only here for Sam. Sam had decided that, despite his shy nature, he wanted to try his hand at the dating game, wanted a chance at finding love. He was determined, Jon hadn’t seen that level of determination in his friend since he decided he wanted to get into med school. However, at the last minute, he chickened out and had begged Jon to come along for support. Jon thought that meant sitting at the bar while Sam went on twelve micro-dates in an hour. But, no, when they arrived, the host reached out and stamped Jon’s hand, same as Sam’s, and he’d ended up with a seat at the circle.

“Uh, y-yeah. I’m, I’m just here for a friend, though. I’m not—” He stutters.

“It’s okay, first time’s a little nerve-wracking for everyone,” she says and pours him a beer. “The key is to relax, and try to smile, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jon says and finally looks up at her and  _wow_. He doesn’t mean to gape, but  _wow._  She’s beautiful, the bartender, full lips and high cheek bones, the smoky makeup around her eyes just made the blue of them pop, despite the poor lighting. To say nothing of the rope of long red hair braided over her shoulder. Jon hated to admit he had a type, but he was a complete sucker for long red hair. He wants to say something to her, anything, but his mouth has gone too dry to speak and by the time he unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Sam is by his side, tugging him down the hall to begin this torture.

“Luck!” she calls out to him with a wave, before the doors shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

For something called speed dating, Jon finds the process to be painfully slow. Five minutes seems like an eternity when you’re staring across a small table at a stranger struggling to make conversation. Half the women were too shy to talk, not that Jon was any better at initiating small talk. And the one he did manage to talk to, well, he wasn’t sure how you were supposed to get from  _what’s your name?_ and  _what do you do?_ to a love connection. The organizers of the event had cheat sheets taped to the table, a list of questions in case you get stumped, specifically designed to encourage deeper conversations, but Jon can’t imagine asking his ‘dates’  _what would you do if you had six months left to live?_

Jon breathes out a sigh of relief when the last bell rings and it’s finally over. He scans the room to find Sam, to make sure his friend hasn’t keeled over in an anxious mess, but Sam seems completely fine. He’s standing to the side talking with a pretty brown-haired girl, and they’re smiling at each other, and Jon grins to see how Sam blushes when she leans over to kiss his cheek. He’s glad to see that Sam at least got what he was looking for out of this and he doesn’t have any resentment when Sam comes by to say that he’s taking her, Gilly, out for a real date right away, leaving Jon to his own devices.

“So did you find Mrs. Right?” The bartender calls to him when he comes out.

“No luck,” Jon replies, reclaiming his barstool in front of her.

“Did you smile? I bet you look nice when you smile,” she says. “Not that you look that bad now, you’ve got a whole hot, broody thing going on, but it’s not the most approachable look.”

 _Hot, broody thing_?It definitely strokes his ego to hear that from her, and a smug grin splits across his face. “Is that right?”

“Oh, no, I was wrong. Go back to brooding,” she laughs.

“My smile can’t be that bad, can it?”

“No, it’s actually cute,” she admits with a blush. “But don’t let that make you cocky. Cocky is  _not_  cute.”

“Thanks for the advice. I’m Jon, by the way.”

“Sansa.” She reaches across the bar to shake his hand, and he feels a spark when they touch. Maybe it’s just static, but even that’s a helluva lot more than he felt with any of the other women tonight.

“So, uhm,  _Sansa._ If I were, say, to need any more dating advice…”

She laughs again. “I’d love to help.”

She scratches her number down on the back of a coaster and Jon immediately tucks it away in the breast pocket of his jacket for safe keeping.

 

* * *

 

Jon waits all of three days before calling her. He meant to play it cool, didn’t want to seem over eager or desperate, but then Sam told Pyp and Grenn about the speed dating, and they started giving him a hard time,  _twelve dates and you couldn’t get **one**_ _phone number?_  And, well, he caved.

“Hey, this is Jon. We met at the bar the other night? You, uh, said I had a cute smile.”

“Yeah, Jon-with-the-cute-smile, I remember you. What’s up?”

“You- you said I should call if I needed any more advice.”

“And do you need any advice?”

“Not exactly, but… I haven’t exactly been on a date in a really long time. If you don’t count the speed dating. And I’m a little concerned that I’ve gotten rusty at it.”

“Is that right?”

He can practically hear her grin through the phone and he  _really_  hopes he’s not about to make a fool out of himself. “Do you think you’d be up for helping me out? Go out on a practice date. You can tell me everything I do wrong. What do you say?”

“Sounds like fun, Jon.”

 

* * *

 

They meet up the following Friday night, and when she shows up wearing jeans and a blouse, he feels a bit like an overdressed ass in his jacket and tie. Sansa takes it in stride, though, using it as her first ‘lesson’. “Okay, since you asked for advice, it’s always good to make sure you and your date both understand the dress code.”

Jon laughs and takes off his jacket and stuffs his tie in the pocket. “Right, yeah. That was my fault.”

“No, it’s fine. I thought practice meant— nevermind,” she waves it off. “Your outfit was good, by the way. For a real date sometime.”

“Thanks.” He won’t admit to just how long he’d spent rummaging through his closet, rearranging different combinations, until he found one that he deemed good enough. He was more than a little anxious for this date, but he was looking forward to it too. And now Jon’s more than a little embarrassed having spent all that time worrying when Sansa clearly didn’t spend half as much fussing over her appearance. Not that she didn’t look incredible in spite of that, no. Simple, but there was an elegance to it. Although, Jon suspected she woke up in the mornings looking elegant, bedhead and all…

“Jon?” Sansa’s voice pulls him from his thoughts, perfect timing, as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop where they were headed on his own. “So, where are you taking me?”

“Dinner, first, then I thought we could take a walk and talk, get to know each other a bit. Or, if you’d rather, I know this pub downtown, they’ve got live music every Friday night.”

“That sounds perfect.”

 

* * *

 

Jon took her to a small bistro Sam had recommended to him. It was quiet and intimate, nice without being fancy. The wine was good and the food was better. When the bill came, Sansa moved immediately to cover her half, insisting that as this wasn’t a real date, he shouldn’t have to pay for her. But Jon.. he was regretting telling her that this was only for practice, the more he got to know her, the more he wished he’d have had the nerve to ask her out for real. Especially since their practice seemed to go so perfectly. After dinner, they strolled through the city. The skies were clear and starry, and the weather was good, just brisk enough that Sansa gratefully accepted his jacket, and if the sight of  _that_  didn’t do something to his poor heart, well… They never made it to the pub, they lost track of time simply talking to each other, they had more in common than either of them knew, and where they differed, it was more complement than opposition. In all his life, Jon had never been on a date that had been this effortless, this easy, but of course, this was the only one that wasn’t real, as Sansa was quick to remind him.

At the end of the night, Jon walks Sansa to her building and he decides… he has to at least ask. If she says no, he can take it, but he’ll never forgive himself if he doesn’t even try. “I had a great time, Sansa. Thanks for… for doing this for me.”

“It’s no trouble, Jon. It was really nice. I don’t think you need to worry about getting rusty. You’re a natural.”

He smiles, and she returns it. “So… I know we agreed this was just for practice, but I thought maybe we could do this again. If you’re up for it.”

She freezes then, and Jon thinks perhaps he overestimated his ability to face rejection. Slowly, Sansa shakes her head. “I don’t think you need any more practice. And I… I just don’t want to get hurt, Jon.” She takes his jacket off of her shoulders and hands it back to him. “You’ve got a  _really_  cute smile and you’re very sweet and I could see myself falling— and I can’t fall for someone who isn’t falling for me. It hurts too much. So it might be better if we just say goodbye now.”

Falling… that’s exactly how Jon feels right now, he’s  _falling_  for this girl. And if she could fall for him too… He doesn’t even think, instinct is the only thing guiding his movements, he pulls her into his arms and kisses her. Cautiously at first, until she grabs hold of the front of his shirt and pulls him closer. His arms fall around her waist to keep her against him, and if he bothered to open his eyes, he just knew she’d have one foot popped up like in old romantic movies.

“I don’t want more practice, Sansa. I want the real thing. I want you.”

“I want that too, Jon.”


End file.
